


Wolfsbane

by SDari



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe, Animal Attack, Animal Deaths, Animal Transformation, BAMF Bilbo, Eventual Romance, Kid Bilbo, M/M, Other, Thorin/Bilbo Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SDari/pseuds/SDari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, fled from the only home he had ever known in a body that was not his own. The only thing left in his wake was the sound of the dragon's laughter and a cry of mourning from his kingdom’s people as they followed; exiles of Erebor forever more.</p><p>(Written for my monster!Thorin AU that refuses to leave me alone)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I: Upheaval

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of this except the idea for this piece of fiction.
> 
> Alright I'm going to warn you guys that this particular fanfic is going to contain a lot of graphic detail involving blood, gore, seizures, head slamming, snapping bones, and other unpleasant types of violence. If you're not into that kind of stuff then I suggest skipping those particular paragraphs. Also Thorin is not going by his title Oakenshield, because in this fic the battle of Moria did not take place, so he's just plain Thorin II Durin for now.
> 
> As a side note if anyone wants to write this idea as well, by all means go ahead! I love the variations. 83

If someone had told him that three days ago he would have battled wits with an arrogant sod of a dragon, he would have merely scowled and said, “Nonsense.”

So imagine his surprise when one morning, as they were arguing whether or not to continue mining sapphires, a guard burst into the meeting room to summon them to the battlements. He, his father, and grandfather raced after the near frantic dwarf. As they finally made it to the top after the long winding stair they came face to, well… eyes, of a dragon.

There was no way they could defeat this creature should it decide to attack. It was a fire drake. Its rich red scales shined in the light, but what had their attention were its eyes. The dark golden eyes glimmered with mirth as its gaze roamed over the three of them. It ignored the somewhat shaken guards, and before anyone could even think to ask a question the monstrosity began to speak.

“Aulë’s bastards, I presume?” He purred (for its voice was a rumbling baritone), thunderous laughter falling from his lips as Thror turned as red as the dragon’s crimson scales with rage. “I have come for your hoard, little moles.” He idly scratched at his chest as he smirked down at them.

“Ready your weapons!” Thror yelled in response as he drew his own sword, thrusting it toward the dragon’s nose. Unfortunately it was a ceremonial weapon and while it was quite beautiful, it would be utterly useless against their new foe. The king didn’t seem to care as he snarled, “We will not give up our people’s wealth to the likes of you, _wyrm!_ ” Thror’s eyes blazed with anger and madness as he practically frothed like a rabid dog, teeth bared in a vicious fashion.

“Father-“

“ _No_ , Thrain! Archers, draw your bows!”

“My King, please-“ Thorin begged. There was no way they could survive this.

“What archers? We’re not ruttin’ tree-shaggers!” Another dwarf in the background yelled, which was answered by several shouts of agreement.

“ _Ready your weapons then you buffoons!”_ Thror howled as he took a step forward, but was suddenly hurled backward against one of the stone pillars as a torrential wind struck the battlements. The drake had drawn to his full height, and the sudden movement had caused the gust.

 _“Silence!”_   The dragon snarled.

Thorin rushed to his grandfather, helping the sputtering dwarf to his feet. His king’s eyes burned with hate as he glared at the drake, looking akin to a boiling pot of water. Thrain came to their side and soothed his father with soft words while Thorin watched the golden gaze narrow at them in disgust.

“ _Fools!”_ The dragon boomed, nearly deafening them. “Do you think your pitiful weapons can do harm to me? I am _Smaug!_ ” He stamped the ground, making the earth tremble beneath. “My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords!” He gnashed them angrily at the dwarves lining the ramparts. “My claws, _spears_!” He suddenly drew them across the face of one of the great statues standing outside the gates, and its head crumbled beneath the action; drawing horror from those who watched. ”The shock of my tail is a _thunderbolt!_ ” With that bellowing word he crashed his tail against the already wounded statue, destroying its shoulders which followed the head to lay crumpled at its feet. “My wings a hurricane,” They unfurled from his sides like great blood colored sails, “And my breath,” Here he drew back his lips and parted his jaws, turning his gaze onto the other statue, “ _Death!_ ”

Heat hotter than their greatest forge suddenly spilled against the unmarred watcher. Thorin could only watch with wide eyes as the green stone turned to liquid and began to run down the statue’s body. It was like a candle in fast forward, and there was nothing they could do to stop the wyrm’s destruction. A few of his kin yelled profanities at Smaug, but they were silenced by commanding officer’s with a sharp _whap_ on their helmets. When the red creature was finished the only thing that remained of the statue were its boots and base. The rest of it pooled around its booted feet like an acidic green lake; curdling with the smell of brimstone and the promise of death should they further anger the monster at their door.

Standing straighter, the prince came to the edge of the battlements and called out, “We are not going to give you our gold!” He silently congratulated himself for not shrinking back when Smaug brought his great head closer, his eyes suddenly right in front of the young prince. He refrained from shivering as the drake flashed him a calculated grin, showing off his large pointy teeth.

“Nor would I expect you to,” Smaug purred, “For you are about as bad as I am when it comes to gleaming treasures.” The dwarves were quiet as he continued, “So I suppose there is nothing to do about it except to battle.” As Thorin drew out his battle axe the drake laughed, booming, “But not in the ways of war, my fierce badger.” The prince scowled as the dragon crooned, “We shall fight in a battle of wit!”

“What’s it talkin’ ‘bout?” A warrior to Thorin’s right growled.

“Damn thing, let’s just kill it!” Another shouted.

“ _Baruk Khazad_! _Khazad ai-menu_!”  Others chorused around the royal family as they shook their weapons at the smugly smiling dragon.

“Should I lose you may do exactly that, and kill me,” Smaug cooed at the blinking guards, “But if I win…” Here his smile became nasty as he growled, “I get every bit of your mountain, and you scurrying vermin will leave or serve as my noonday meal… and something more, of my choosing.” He looked like a cat that had caught the canary.

Thror sheathed the ceremonial blade, and crossed his arms. He nodded as he replied while stroking his bejeweled beard, “Very well we shall do this… battle.” One did not have to listen hard to tell that the king thought of this as nothing more than a joke, and Thorin couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him. “Now,” His grandfather continued, “Where shall we-?”

“Not you!” Smaug spat. “I will fight _him!_ ” He motioned to the young prince.

Thorin felt like the entire world has turned its gaze on him as his father and grandfather began to protest.

“Should you decline I will simply take what I want and feast on your ash!” The dragon thundered. Warm gold glowed in the back of his throat as steaming saliva dribbled from his lips, landing far below with quiet hisses against the ground.

The prince turned to his kin and gave them a reassuring smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Peace,” He said as he clasped the arms of his king and father, “I will defeat this foe and none shall worry for it.” He nodded, and then turned back to the dragon. “Where shall we battle?” He asked, as it was common courtesy for the challenger to pick the place.

Smaug smiled, if it could even be called that, and hummed, “In my treasury, of course.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes, but pivoted on his heel. He turned about and yelled to the dwarves below, “Open the gates! Evacuate the miners and move everyone to the side halls!” The orders were repeated as his people scrambled to do his bidding. He walked down the long line of stairs to the main floor, ignoring his father’s cries, and stopped to look as the gates were slowly opened. From this point he could tell there was simply no way they could ever defeat a dragon of that size even with their armies, and was glad the large brute was up for a battle of wit.

He was a prince of Erebor! He had been trained since birth in the ways of politics, war, and the subtle art of verbal sparring. There was no way he could lose.

When the gates were finally opened to their full width the hulking red drake ambled inside, practically swaggering as if he had already won. His eyes roved greedily over the expanse of the kingdom, and Thorin could already tell this was going to be a very taxing fight indeed. “This way,” He growled as he led the dragon to the treasury. They entered, and the doors closed behind them with a loud clap.

 

* * *

 

It had been two days since the dragon had shown up at the gates, and the doors to the treasury remained shut. Not much could be heard, not even Smaug’s rumble, and that made the dwarves of Erebor uneasy. Whispers and rumor began to float about, but they were immediately squashed by the head guard: Dwalin. “Shut yer gobs!” He barked as boxed some ears. “Our prince will win. Now get back to trainin’ ye useless laggards!“

Needless to say there was no more talk of failure as the guards and warriors were forced to continue practicing through the night.

On the third day, as dawn began to kiss the sky, fear was struck into every dwarf’s heart as Smaug’s raucous laughter echoed through their halls. Not even Dwalin’s axes could cease the endless whispers or stop them from beginning to fetch their belongings. “Oh laddie,” The guardsmen whispered mournfully, strapping his weapons on his back as he watched the treasury doors.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean I’m wrong?” Thorin bit out through clenched teeth.

“It is as I said,” He crowed, “You are wrong!” The dragon slammed a fist into one of the piles of gold. “I win, and you _lose_ , little badger!”

Dread filled his entire being as the prince looked down at his feet. He didn’t even notice he was shaking as thoughts rushed through him. Where would he people go? Who would help them? Would he be banished from his family for costing them their home? What would happen to Dis, and little Fili? She was already swelling with another, and she would need extra provisions. Would their gold-?

He was interrupted by Smaug’s sneer, “Fear not my worried prince. I will help you.” He stretched his sinuous neck and brought one of his great eyes to face the startled dwarf. “As you are not of great wit I will make you something more akin to what you really are: an arrogant beast of strength.” Thorin opened his mouth to say something a person of his rank really shouldn’t when he was enveloped in smoke.

His lungs burned as he took a quick breath. He gritted his teeth, trying to swallow the white hot pain that coursed through his veins, but it proved to be too much. Thorin screamed and fell to his knees, arms wrapping around his middle as his bones snapped and expanded. His muscles ripped and shifted beneath his skin as his clothes stretched to their limit; buttons flying in every which way. He dropped forward, forehead slamming against the stone as the dragon laughed.

“I free you from your worries of family, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror! The dwarves of _my_ Lonely Mountain will not recognize you, or remember you! You will only be seen as you are meant to be!”

“W-what have you _done_ to me?” He rasped, the words choking in his throat as his vocal cords began to change. He tried to say something else, but it was drowned out by a loud wail. It took a moment for Thorin to realize the sound was coming from him. His eyes snapped open as he felt his jaw break and lengthen, connecting somewhere lower on his face. His teeth fell from his gums and clattered to the floor, suddenly very loud to his stretched ears. His skull ached and pounded as a new set of incisors began to cut their way through his mouth, earning another cry of pain from the prince.

Suddenly his body began to spasm, and he seized. Thorin’s eyes rolled up in their skull as his jaw slackened, tongue flopping against the floor as he retched. His head slammed against the stone again and again as anguish never sampled before filled his body. Then as quick as it had started, it ended, and left him feeling senseless. His eyes slowly fell from their place and he could see again, albeit hazily. He groaned, and started at the sound. It was so much… louder, than he was used to. As his vision cleared everything was so much clearer than it had been before. He could make out details he hadn’t been able to tell before.

Thorin rolled onto his chest as the treasury doors burst open. He whipped his head around muzzily, shaking it slightly as he looked at Dwalin and several other guards. He smiled and called out to his friend, but the sound that left him was not the affectionate Khuzdul that formed in his brain. Rather it was more similar to a dog’s bark.

“What have ye done with our prince, scourge?” Dwalin yelled at the dragon, his axes out.

“Why, the prince and I were having the most _delightful_ of conversations, when this creature came and slaughtered him! I would have helped, but really, this beast helped me in the end.” Smaug rubbed his claws against his chest and then brought them to his lips, gently blowing on them. “Quite helpful indeed, don’t you think?”

What? No, no! That’s not what happened! Thorin got to his feet and stumbled. Everything felt different, bigger, and he realized he towered over his fellows. He loomed over Dwalin, who was one of the tallest dwarves he knew! What was wrong with him? Why was everything so… new? He looked down at his feet, and felt the sharp twang of shock bolt through him. Where his feet should have been was a pair of very large dark brown paws. Hooked claws gleamed in the light where his nails used to rest. What drew his eyes away from them were his torn clothes. They were sopped in what he had thought was bile, but it turned out to be blood that he had coughed up… which he tasted in his mouth, and no doubt covered his lips.

He knew what the dragon had done. What better way to get rid of the competition than to use its own forces against it? Thorin might have admired the move if he weren’t currently facing his enraged friend and fellows. Their battle cries stung his ears and wounded his soul as he tried to call out to them. _It’s me, Thorin! Your prince! Your friend! Why can’t you see?_ All that left him was a doleful roar, and he knew he couldn’t stay here. He dodged Uhklat and Umraz’s broad swings, feeling the breeze of their swipes narrowly missing his skull. He clumsily punched at Dwalin, but it came out as a mighty swipe of one of his massive paws. It collided with the dwarf’s skull, and sent the guard flying.

Thorin’s eyes were wide as he watched his friend smack against a small hill of gold. He went to move toward Dwalin, to try and apologize and help him, when he was forced to move back by the other’s swinging blades. With a last look at the head guardsmen’s limp form he turned about and ran away. It was difficult to do with seemingly extra limbs, and he must’ve looked like a newborn colt. Unlike babes he didn’t have time to stutter about, and so he forced himself onward.

He ignored the terrified screams of his people and moved past them. He ducked low against the singing blades of his trained warriors, and most of all he did not look to where his father and grandfather shouted orders. He did not hear them clip armor on their bodies and give orders to hunt him down.

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, fled from the only home he had ever known in a body that was not his own. The only thing left in his wake was the sound of the dragon’s laughter and a cry of mourning from his kingdom’s people as they followed; exiles of Erebor forever more.


	2. Chapter II: Flight from Erebor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some violence and vomiting in this chapter, so you've been warned!

“ _Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!_ ”

He never thought those words would be directed at him.

The sharp clack of hooves ate at his haunches, and the loud _thunk_ of a spear landing in the ground at his side spurred Thorin to run faster. He gritted his teeth, burying his grief to deal with it later. Now he had some ponies and kin to deal with. He dug his claws in the earth and with the left over momentum swung his body around so he was suddenly facing his attackers. The mounts skidded to a halt, prancing nervously and snorting. _I cannot fight you, my brethren, but I won’t suffer from your onslaught anymore!_ He thought viciously, which transferred to his face as he bared his teeth and narrowed his blue gaze.

He charged, roaring even as he thought, _Baruk Khazad!_ The ponies reared back, letting out shrill whinnies, but it was the first pony that got the worst. He, much bigger than the terrified steed, slammed his shoulder into its own. It fall back down the rocky slope, legs kicking as it tumbled on the ground; hind legs snapping like dried twigs. It _screamed_ and Thorin didn’t think he’d ever forget the terrible sound. The pony writhed in agony while it kicked out its front legs, body pitching and heaving as it still tried to right itself, only further destroying its hind legs.

Its rider went further down, but thanks to his armor he would not receive too much damage.

The other chargers neighed in terror, dancing away from Thorin while they bucked wildly. With their riders tossed the stupid beasts took off, back to their stables no doubt, and left the dwarves at Thorin’s mercy.

He would have tried to remove their weapons from them, but the faint sound of horses drew his attention. He looked south, and saw a large cloud of dust approaching them from Dale. No doubt the men had watched and knew what had happened. Being allies of Erebor they would help the exiled dwarves, especially in their current task: bring back the pelt of the beast that had slain their crowned prince. Thorin growled, cursing the damned dragon, and turned tail.

He ran, again, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

What had once been called the Greenwood was now known as Mirkwood. It loomed before him like a dark sentinel, its twisted trees clawing at the sky. He came to a halt at its border, eying the dark grove with disdain. His brow furrowed while he panted heavily, looking back. The horses were close, but not so close that he was in their range. Temporarily safe from their arrows he focused on his options. He could cut through the elf territory, and if he wasn’t seen he could cut through quickly. He could also skirt around the forest, but that would take much longer and he wouldn’t be able to outrun the horses forever. Plus it seemed… cowardly, and the thought made Thorin bristle.

_I may run for now, but I won’t sink as low as petty dwarves. Khazad ai-menu!_ He thought as he took the plunge and ran into the wicked forest.

Mirkwood was oppressive and deathly quiet. Nothing moved, and it was as if time stopped flowing. With the thick foliage above blocking all sunlight he wasn’t sure what time it was, or how long he had been in it. His body ached and he thought about resting, but he pushed the thought away and walked on. His ears swiveled in every direction, listening for something, _anything_ , but nothing came. He was seemingly utterly alone in the dark of the forest, and it was a troublesome thought. Thankfully his vision could pierce the forest’s murk, and he stuck to the path without getting lost.

One problem he encountered was the _heat._ It was stifling, and he couldn’t do anything to make himself feel better except to pant like a dog. He licked his lips, feeling parched, but there was no water in sight. He sighed, the sound seeming to reverberate in the air, when he heard it.

_Snap!_

A twig had crunched in the distance, and he knew he hadn’t stepped on one. He stood perfectly still; listening, and then he heard another break. Without thinking he ran down the path, his body screaming from his constant motion and lack of respite. Something landed where he had been just moments before with a loud _thud_ , and then it was crashing down the path after him. It hissed and spat and Thorin forced himself to go even faster. His spine curled and flexed as he stretched his legs as far as they would go, newfound muscles propelling him like a spring.

It was a terrible game they were playing. He set the pace and the course, and the predator had to try and catch him. Unfortunately he could not veer off the path for fear of becoming lost, and so he could only follow it. They both knew it, the latter seeming gleeful about it. It let out a loud _kree_ as it surged after him, the thuds of its many feet telling Thorin what was chasing him: a spider. He had heard of travelers falling victim of their bites, and knew many didn’t make it out of the forest to tell the tales.

He didn’t know how long he had been running. His pursuer’s footfalls had faded away some time ago, but there was no way he was stopping. He had to get out of this damned place as fast as he could, and so he did.

By the time he reached the opposite side of Mirkwood he was on the verge of collapsing. He was empty of all fuel, and his stomach felt like a canyon. His sweaty sides heaved as he trudged his way out of the gloomy wood. Sounds assaulted him and slapped him in the face, making him pause midstride. He relished them, drinking them in like a dying man as he tugged his lips into a weary smile. Then, for the first time in days, he fell on his belly and succumbed to sleep.

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure why he woke up. At first he thought it was because he was ravenous, but that wouldn’t be enough to snap him from a dead sleep. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of night he heard it before he saw it: growling. Thorin was on his feet in an instant, and the faint sound of rushing wind made him dive forward. He landed clumsily, still groggy from sleep, and turned to find a warg where he had been laying only moments ago. It was a big muddy colored thing with yellowed teeth and gleaming eyes. It was snarling, salivating, and Thorin was getting real tired of things hunting him.

So he went on instinct, and charged with a bellowing roar. The warg, not expecting the attack, tried to scramble back but it was too late. Thorin sunk his teeth in the beast’s neck, his overly large fangs shredding the arteries. His blue eyes widened as he realized what he had done, and he let the other beast go. It fell to the ground with a gurgling whine, and then was silent. The coppery taste of its blood on his tongue made him shudder, and he wiped at it with his paw in hopes of ridding himself of the taste.

No such luck.

The warg lay where he had attacked it, and his stomach snarled as loud as his foe had. He shook his head. No! No. He would not eat a warg. It was… it was unbelievable he had even considered such a thought. Still… He looked at the dead thing. It was meat, but he had no fire! How was he going to eat it? A thought occurred to him, but he stamped it before it could take root. No, the dragon was wrong! He was not a beast. Thorin growled and stalked a few feet away from his kill, and then lay down. His nostrils twitched as a small breeze blew the smell of blood to him, still fresh from the fatal wound he had inflicted on the warg. Instinct took hold of him, and he found himself surging to his feet. His pupils dilated.

He tore into the dead warg with a savage growl, and felt strength seep into his bones as he feasted on its flesh.

He picked the carcass clean in under forty minutes, replenishing his stores. He was sucking the marrow out of the warg’s femur when he came to, and froze. The realization of what he had done sunk in. Thorin looked at the bloodied skeleton, and then down at the gnawed bone held down by his front paws. He began to shake and staggered to his feet, feeling suddenly too full and bloated. His vision swam a bit, and then he heaved and threw up everything he had eaten. He stood over his pile of vomit, panting heavily and shuddering with horror. How could he have done it? _Maybe you are just a dumb brute,_ He thought woefully as he closed his eyes.

_…No. No I’m not. I’m one of Durin’s sons, and a creation of Mahal no matter the form I take. I’m a prince of Erebor. I’m Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!_

He shook himself from nose to tail tip, and took off at a swift trot toward a large pillar of stone. It was no mountain, but it was a monument to behold. The more important thing was there was water nearby it, and he could rinse the horrid taste from his mouth. As Thorin came to the edge of a large river he stopped. Two more steps and he would be able to see his reflection. Did he want to? His ears pinned back, and with a heavy sigh he took the plunge and saw his image for the first time since his transformation.

He was a very large wolf-like creature, about as big as a work horse, but his muzzle was far too broad to be a simple canine. Large, wide fangs protruded from his upper lip. His wavy black beard blossomed from his bottom jaw, which made him smile crookedly. He had retained his grandfather’s eye color, to his relief. A pair of large horns protruded from his forehead. They curled forward similar to a ram’s, and then swirled backwards. He still had his ear cuff on his right ear, which would explain why it felt a little itchy. A thick, shaggy black mane similar to a lion’s covered his neck and drifted down his chest. His ears pricked up as he noticed he still had his family’s braids, the clasps gleaming in the moonlight, and he could have sobbed with happiness from having retained them.

Thorin turned himself sideways to get a better look at his body. The thick fur continued all the way down his body, ragged strands ending in thick tufts along his elbows. It shortened along his forelegs, but there were tufts of thick fur around the joints. His haunches were especially thick; the long strands making him look as if he were wearing foppish pants. He snorted, watching as his tail flicked with irritation. It was long and on the fluffy side, much like the rest of him. He was dark brown all over, but his belly was a lighter dustier shade. The same went for the inside of his hind legs, but his tail was dipped in black like his mane.

_What a mess,_ He thought ruefully as he lowered his head to the water. He slurped it noisily, not sure how to lap at it like a dog, so he mused he must look hilarious. The taste in his mouth was washed out and quite frankly that’s all he cared about. Once he was done he went to the base of the vast pillar of rock, and lay down to sleep once more.

 

* * *

 

Thorin awoke with a laugh in his mouth and his father’s name on the tip of his tongue, but when he looked around it smacked him in the face. He hadn’t been dreaming. This nightmare was real, and he was far away from his home. He could see it from here though, and it twisted his insides. He felt his soul break a little more as he realized he could never go back, for his kin thought he was his own slayer. His ears pinned back as a soft keening sound escaped him, claws digging into the dirt beneath his body. He gritted his teeth and shook his head, drowning the emotions as he focused on his current needs. He needed to eat, especially after last night’s fiasco with the warg.

He shuddered at the memory, and got up. He left the column of stone and set out to attempt fishing. Bears and big cats could do it, and seeing as how he could swipe like a mountain lion why not try to catch them?

Needless to say after an hour of smacking the water and only making himself soaking wet he had given up on trying to fish.

Thorin snorted, water dripping from his whiskers and beard as he glared at the swimming breakfasts. He growled under his breath, and peered across the wide expanse of water. It was slow moving, and he needed to get to the other side. It didn’t feel like there was a terribly strong current, so it should be easy to swim. Determination in his eyes, he waded out further until only the very bottom of his toes could touch the bottom, and began to swim across the channel. Luckily this was easy, as the only style of swimming he had ever been able to master was the dog paddle.

His stomach whined, and he glowered as he made it to the opposing shore. His sides were heaving, breathing a little heavily due to his weakened state. He trudged ahead, eyes meeting a large flatland. There were boulders and clusters of rocks here and there, looking like little islands in a sea of swaying grass. Beyond them loomed the Misty Mountains, appearing as foggy blue due to the distance. His ears perked as he heard horses neighing. He dropped to his belly, finding the source to be a caravan of travelers. Upon further inspection they appeared to be dwarves.

_Of course they’re dwarves_ , He thought dryly, _because that would be my luck._

Thorin’s nose twitched, and he inhaled deeply. His mouth began to water as he smelled food. These were not poor beings, but wealthy for who else would have cooked meat while they were on the move? Generally that was for a meal at the end of the day if you were poor, but… His eyes widened. These had to be the advisors from the Blue Mountains that were supposed to arrive in another week to set up trade agreements with Erebor. He could have chuckled, because while he did not approve of thievery in any sense he would not feel too terrible from stealing these particular dwarves.

Remaining low to the ground he crept further downwind from the ponies, not wanting them to give him away, and took to hiding behind some large rocks. He waited until he could hear the muffled stomps of the steeds’ hooves, and then jumped out from behind the boulders with a bellowing roar. The ponies reared back with loud brays, and he ran past them. He ignored the startled shrieks of the dwarves, and ripped off the cloth cover of the wagon in the back. Following his nose he grabbed a large sack, and then took off running. He could hear the dwarves yelling behind him, but he didn’t care.

After he was quite a bit away and he couldn’t see anyone, Thorin dropped his prize, and tore into the sack. It was full of dried meats and fruit. He ate them with gusto, not even bothering to eat around the apple cores. He just swallowed them whole, occasionally spitting out the seeds before they could get stuck between his teeth. Thorin made short work of the food, and while he was not very full he felt much better. He leaned back to scratch at his ear, and then continued on his way toward the Misty Mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Thorin is still working out the kinks in his new body. Nobody's perfect. xD
> 
> Oh and here are some links to my prompt and images of monster!Thorin:
> 
> http://s-dari.tumblr.com/post/47166302737/so-i-had-this-idea-that-instead-of-smaug-coming  
> http://s-dari.tumblr.com/post/47245495308/continued-from-here-and-have-some-majestic


	3. Chapter III: The Misty Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There will be blood, carnage, and descriptions of utter violence in this chapter.

The Misty Mountains were a vast chain of rock that stretched across most of Middle Earth. Their climates ranged from being terribly cold to unbearably hot, and sometimes insufferably wet. It was rare for the mountains to forgive, and the part Thorin had called home for the past month was no exception. The nook of a cave he had claimed was barely big enough for him to lie down in thanks to its low ceiling, but it kept him dry. He had taken to carving his story on its walls depicting his time stayed there, and sometimes it was the only thing that kept him sane… kept him from giving into his baser desires: living the life of a mindless beast.

He paused in his writing, if it could be called that, as the peculiar noises started up again. They sounded like toy makers tinkering, and the thought sent a wistful feeling through him. He missed watching his people work on their crafts. By Mahal, _he_ missed doing it! He yearned to feel the forge’s fire kiss his skin, reminding him to be careful, and the feel of the hammer striking iron. His muscles ached with the memories, and he savored the feeling. Thorin closed his eyes and stopped the sigh before it could start.

His ears perked up. Was that someone… talking? He tried to listen, to better grasp what was being said, before his entire world was turned upside down. The sandy floor he had been so thankful for pulled away and he was falling toward the voices that clamored, “Down, down, to _Goblin Town_!”

Thorin could only curse himself for being so foolish. He had been sleeping in a damn trap! The void he was falling in was blacker than the blackest pitch. The walls he slipped on were ridiculously smooth without grasp or purchase. Even his claws, dreadfully sharp from his idle writing, scraped helplessly against them. Sparks flew from the friction, giving small respite to the overwhelming darkness that even his eyes couldn’t penetrate. He howled as he was thrown through the air from a curve of rock, down into a gaping maw of black before with a loud _oof_ , it came to a startling halt.

He groaned shaking his head as whatever he was on began to move with a harsh mechanical sound. He tried to grab it to keep the motion from happening, but he was too disorientated to do anything helpful. He rolled over and over until he landed on some sort of mesh, and then everything came into focus. Fear gripped him as the words he heard earlier echoed in his head. Down, down, to Goblin Town, and here he was. It was a city of rickety wood, ropes, and torch light. He could hear the scrabble of unkempt nails against the rock getting louder, and knew he had to move if he didn’t want to become their new plaything.

While he may have been as big as a draft horse he wasn’t rash enough to think he could survive _their_ numbers.

Thorin looked around. He’d only have seconds before they were upon him. The only way he could go to avoid them was down, but even then his chances of survival were slim. The sight of cackling mouths and grabby hands made his decision for him. With a savage snarl he swiped a paw at the surprised goblins, and then leaped from the catch. He fell once more, body colliding against the rocks, and a sharp smack of his skull took him into even further darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Drip_ … _Drip_ …

The faint sound of water droplets hitting something roused him unconsciousness. His sopping wet nose told him that _it_ was what the water was abusing, and he rolled away from the vexing liquid with a grunt. Lying on his belly, the smells of mildew and decay assaulted him like a slap to the face as he began to wake. He shook his head and snorted, absentmindedly lifting one of his paws to wipe at his muzzle. Thorin groggily stared up in the dark, and realized where ever he had fallen was far away from Goblin Town. He looked down at the mound of mushrooms that seemed to have broken his fall, but from the smears on his body he could only guess he had dragged them down from their homes.

He looked himself over. It appeared that his thick fur coat had saved him from the brunt of damage, but where it was thin there were a myriad of cuts and scrapes. He moved his paws and shifted his legs, and sighed heavily with relief. _Thank Mahal, nothing’s broken,_ He thought with a crooked smile. Thorin stood up and stretched, cracking his spine, and looked around. It appeared he was in some sort of labyrinth of stone, but a quick sniff told him he was near a body of water. _An underground lake… Maybe it leads to a stream I could follow out?_ He cocked his head considering his options, and decided to follow his nose.

Thorin had to crawl on his belly through the thin path to avoid jagged rocks, and couldn’t help but growl to himself with annoyance. As he came closer to the lagoon he noticed piles of bones lying around. They looked gnawed on which was unsurprising considering there would be smaller animals in the depths, but the neat piles they were placed in was unsettling. His hips were caught by an overhang, and after a few minutes of twisting he came out into a large cavern. His ears perked up as he heard a queer sound.

Was that… _breathing?_

It was a loud, raspy, and wet sound, like whatever it was suffered from some sort of sickness. The deep draws told him that the owner was asleep, and if he stayed relatively quiet it should stay that way. He carefully picked his way around the sharp edges of the lake’s shore, and did his best not to move any of the bones. A few crunched beneath his weight, and after several seconds of being perfectly still and nothing coming after him, he continued on his way. He found what appeared to be the exit and made his way through it, following the smell of fresher air. Thankfully it became wider the further he went out, fitting his bulk, and he no longer had to creep around like a thief in the night.

A bright speckle made him move faster; no longer needing his nose as he _finally_ left the passage.

The morning sun nearly blinded him, but he welcomed the feeling. Sunlight would keep the creatures of the dark where they belonged, and would put more distance between them. He scaled his way down the steep embankment, relishing the earthy smells around him. While he missed hearing the way stone would sing, he would not miss the sounds of the Misty Mountain’s rock. They were only dark reminders of his time in their wicked caves, and he would sooner forget that than anything else.

One particular smell stood out amongst the rest, and he couldn’t quite pin it. It was very strong and musky, kind of like a dog’s, but… His eyes widened as he suddenly stopped with one paw midair as he quickly looked around, fur bristling along his backside. _Wargs!_ His mind hissed, and then all hell broke loose. It was like naming the scent brought on the beasts themselves as they burst from the underbrush with spiteful howls. Thorin reared back with a yelp, but furrowed his brows and snarled with satisfaction as one of his massive paws knocked a lunging warg backward. It flew into some of its fellows, who fell about comically with whimpering yelps.

The twang of bows made him jump back with alarm as he realized this was not a feral pack, but a coordinated one wrangled by orcs. Their arrows sailed past him, but a few landed distressingly close to his feet. He roared, but it only infuriated the wargs where it would have spooked any other mount, and he was forced to run away yet again. His claws acted like spikes, helping him run even faster as they gripped the loose soil. He had a moment where he was quicker, but Gundabad wargs were renowned for their speed and they showed it off by catching up to him swiftly.

His only chance was to be as wily as a fox, and so he wove his way through the spindly pine trees. The sharp turns made the wargs collide into one another like bumbling pups, and his quick footwork only made them angrier. Rage made them stupid as they scrambled after him, and he let out a barking laugh. Good. Now that they were under his thumb, so to speak, he could dispatch their riders. He turned around speedily, having remembered the maneuver he used on his fellow’s ponies, and used the remaining momentum to spring over the wargs. Paws outstretched he sailed over their snapping teeth, and brought down the yelling orcs.

They landed beneath his body with sickening crunches, his weight having destroyed their skulls. Their black blood flew in every direction, splattering against him and matting his fur. He gritted his teeth, and paid for his brief respite with wargs jumping on him. They grabbed mouthfuls of his coat and pulled, but thanks to it they did not pierce his flesh. He bellowed and fell back from their fierce tugs; belly exposed, and lashed out with harsh kicks. His sharp claws glistened with their blood as he rendered their flesh into useless clumps that hung off the bones by mere strands. The wargs wailed as they fell back, and he felt no pity for them.

Getting to his feet he ran after them, bringing them down one by one. His teeth crushed their bones and broke their legs. His weight tripped them up and forced them down, and the swipe of his paws broke their gates. Only one was left, and it was a springy white female. Her eyes gleamed with hate and her jaws parted, showing off her yellowed fangs that dripped with saliva. Her toes splayed as she dug into the ground, standing before a shallow hole and seeming to protect it. Thorin went closer, his own jaws coated with black and red blood, mixing with his saliva. She only stood straighter and took a step forward when a high pitched sound made them both stop.

Mewling pups climbed out from the shallow pit and began to paw at her towering legs. They were little fur balls in comparison to Thorin, similar to rabbits in size. Their silver fur gleamed in the light, and their eyes were a surprising blue. Most adults had yellow or brown eyes, sometimes even red, but theirs were like robin eggs.

The female hissed as her larger pup ran up to Thorin’s foot, and bit it for all he was worth. It felt like a gnat bite, but the little one’s courage touched him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. It idly reminded him when Fili had first stood up to him, and while he knew he still had to punish the lad it was to a lesser extreme than it was going to be before. All the anger died out of him as the pup continued to chew on his toes, and his lack of reaction brought the other one forward. She jauntily joined her sibling, and together they made toys of his foot.

Thorin looked up at the mother and watched her expressions drift across her face. Horror, rage, and finally wariness settled on her brow as she stopped snarling. He had no idea that orcs allowed their mounts to breed outside of the pits they dwelled it, but he supposed maybe there wasn’t enough time to take her back. So they had stayed here, letting her whelp and raise the little things until they were old enough to make the journey back. His ears drooped as he knew there was no way he could rid the earth of this particular warg, for she had only been doing what any mother would have done: trying to feed and raise her family. He leaned down, sensing her stiffen, and ran his tongue over the pup’s heads. They growled fiercely, but accepted the affection happily enough.

He slowly backed away, gently knocking the pups back toward the white female. They tried to follow him as he moved further away, but a sharp back from their mother sent them scurrying back.

In that moment they met eyes again, and an understanding passed between them. She would let him live because he had not hurt her pups, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being chased by her for his kindness. So he gave the mother a steep bow, lowering his head toward the earth; a sign of respect he would have given any dwarf mother. With one last look at each other they turned their separate ways. He went back up the mountain while she returned to the shallow pit with her little ones yapping at her feet.

Thorin looked outward, and sighed as he realized he was back on the side where the pillar of stone could be seen in the far distance. He growled to himself and set out to head to the opposite side, wanting to put as much ground between him and Erebor. He glanced once more over his shoulder at the white streaks in the ground, briefly pondering if he should stay and help the female, but he had a feeling she would try to kill him if he did. So he straightened his shoulders, and took up a path that would lead him back toward the trap. He wouldn’t stay there this time, but go beyond it in hopes of finding somewhere to stay for the rest of his weary days.

…Hopefully somewhere he wouldn’t be constantly assaulted by its inhabitants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is curious the pillar of stone is the Carrock, as I have my trusty map with me and it's literally right outside of Mirkwood/very close to the ford. Also sorry if this chapter is a little short. It might not be quite as long, but it's definitely rich in detail!
> 
> And if anyone is annoyed that Thorin is not being his usual brooding self I'm blaming the fact that he's very young in this fic, kinda like Fili is during The Hobbit, but just more matured... plus no battle of Moria that he's fought, so he doesn't have the weight of kingship on his shoulders yet.
> 
> Everybody's comments, hits, and kudoses have made my day forever! xD I made so many inhuman noises and flails I have scared my cats into not approaching me when I'm on the laptop. Quite a feat if I do say so myself!


	4. Chapter IV: Elves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE IS MORE VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER I AM SORRY IT IS SO BLOODY. There is graphically described skull destruction, including eyeballs. There is also going to be a lot of mental musings and boring sentences so I apologize for those in advance. Overall, aside from the violence this chapter is kind of boring. I SWEAR AFTER THIS CHAPTER WE GET A BREAK FROM THE BLOOD OKAY? @_____@
> 
> P.S. You should totally listen to She Wolf by David Guetta feat. Sia when you read this fic, as it's what I mainly typed this up with.  
> EDIT: HOLY CRAP I used the wrong title. Fixed!

If the Misty Mountains had taught him anything about his new life, it was that sometimes he had to give into his baser desires to survive. Instinct, while helpful, was not enough to keep him going and he couldn’t always rely on luck. So he forced himself to learn to hunt the way an animal would, which wasn't hard to do once he applied how he used to when he was a dwarf. Instead of making traps like he would with Dwalin, he would crouch down and wait for something to come along the way. Sometimes he’d wait for hours, but when something did cross his path he’d breathe more shallowly and strike when the time was right.

His first successful hunt (as he didn’t count the warg) was still the worst. He’d pinned the deer beneath his paws, claws piercing its flesh, and stared at it. While he had killed the warg out of anger he had yet to kill something out of need, with his teeth no less! The animal beneath him thrashed about like a fish, braying and squealing as it kicked out with its cloven hooves. He opened his mouth and caught its flailing neck in jaws, and its cries only became more piteous. He’d closed his eyes when he broke its neck with a resounding _crack,_ and that had been the end. It was still unsettling and made him shiver every time he thought about it, and eating raw meat? That was an acquired taste he didn't think he’d ever take a liking to.

But it kept him from dying, and that was that.

Of course when his waiting method didn’t work, he’d strike out of his comfort zone and actually _hunt,_ like a real monster, and stalk his prey. The first couple of tries were just disastrous, and he was sure the deer had laughed at him.

Thorin remembered when he _had_ succeeded it been more of an accident than anything else. He had been chasing a herd down a particularly steep slope made mostly from shale, and he’d slipped. It wasn’t like it was his fault though! The damned shale had begun to slide, and his foot had been caught on one of them. His tumble had taken one of the deer down with him, and when he’d finally stopped rolling his prey was more like chili than meat. It certainly hadn’t been his most glorious moment, and he’d come out awful sticky from it. It did stop his stomach from snarling and that was satisfactory enough.

 _Maybe I should eat it like that more often… Certainly gave it a better texture,_ He mused as he gave a great big yawn. He splayed his toes and wiggled them as he stood up, flexing his back in a C-shape as he stretched. His mouth closed with a soft click of his teeth before he shook his head, the drool dribbling from his jowls going everywhere. He licked his chops, nose twitching as he lowered his head to the trickling stream (it was really more like run off from last night’s ran) at his right. He had mastered the way a dog drank, and lapped at the water without biting his tongue this time.

He hadn’t meant to sleep in, and from the way the sun was positioned he had to guess it was around 10 o’ clock in the morning. Thorin chastised himself for wasting so much time, and set out along one of the deer trails that went down the mountain. He had reached the opposite side a few days before, and was close to being at its base. It would probably take all day, but he wanted out of the Misty Mountains as fast as possible. He didn’t like the idea of running into the goblins again, or falling into one of their older traps they no longer minded.

Thorin traveled for most of the day, resting only when necessary, but even those were few and far between. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, and guessed it was just paranoia from being constantly assaulted outside of his mountain. The thought sent a wistful pang through him, but he shoved it aside to deal with later. He skipped his meals, and continued his journey west. He took pause as he reached the green base of the mountain, looking beyond, and seeing it was a golden sea of long grass. He breathed deep, smelling the still damp earth from last night’s rain. He cast one last look at the Misty Mountains, and then took off into the new lands with excitement bursting inside him. He relished the way the wind tousled his mane, braids whipping on either side of him, and muscles rippling beneath his body. He savored how strong he felt and how quick the world passed him as he sprinted. It was invigorating to be somewhere so far, and he took advantage of the brief happiness. He slowed down after a while to a canter, then to a trot, and at last a brisk walk. His sides heaved as he panted, but the worries he’d tried to run away from came back to roost on his shoulders.

Their weight dashed away his pleasure, and brought with it the feeling of worry.

Thorin looked over his shoulders and looked back from whence he came. _I wonder how they fare… I have not seen caravans, so I can only assume they have struck some sort of agreement with Dale, but how long can they stay there? No doubt our king would use some of his smaller trinkets, but… a long siege against a dragon? Would Dale even agree to such terms?_

He sighed, deep and long, and turned to face the mountains as his brows furrowed. _Frerin, Dis, what will happen to you now? Will you be safe, happy? Can you ever be that way again?_ His ears pinned back against his disheveled mane, the braids gently swaying in the breeze. His blue eyes watched the tall strands of golden grass billow under the light wind’s caresses. _Will Fili remember his home, or will it be some forgotten dream only old dwarves remember? Will he remember me, at least, or will they push me out of his mind?_ He recalled the dragon’s words, and his ears drooped on either side of his head.

 _By Mahal had I simply beat that damned dragon none of this would have happened! We would still be there and he would be dead, how he should be!_ Thorin snarled as he raked his claws against the ground. His ears suddenly perked up as his eyes widened. _I could go back. With this new body I could help them slay Smaug! I- no, no I can’t. Dwalin…_ The memory of his friend splayed against the gold, eyes closed and body slack, made his eyes drift toward the ground. _He would try to avenge me by killing me._ He smiled at the irony and lifted his forlorn gaze to the heavens. _Fili… I hope you most of all will be better than I, stupid dwarf that I was, and learn to overcome my shortcomings. You, who will more than likely become the heir after Frerin, the dumb brother of mine, who does not wish to wed… Not that I blame him._

Thorin chuckled to himself, but it sounded more like a rumble in the back of his throat. He gently shook his head, taking heart the memories of his family, and looked west. Spirits brightened, he picked up where he left off and kept walking on.

* * *

 

Game was much harder to catch the further west he went. It was smaller, quicker, and even faster to bolt at even a hint of his shadow. The mountain’s trees had forced the deer to slow down and take just a second more of precious time to move, giving him the upper hand so to speak, but these plains… Everywhere was freedom for his prey, and it was frustrating to watch every rabbit bolt before he even had a chance to spring. It was like they had a damn communication system!

…It was like they had a communication system.

Thorin cursed himself for being so stupid. The instincts must’ve been fogging his brain again. He was going to have to work on that. Of _course_ they had a network! These were the plains for Mahal’s sake; they had a damned network underground! Rabbits were worse than dwarves about how deep they dug, honestly, and might have been their spirit animal if it weren’t for their production rate. Most dwarves would occasionally forget to procreate due to their obsessions with their crafts, unless an heir was needed to continue a line. That’s not to say that all dwarves were like that, as he could recall quite a few that would ramble on and on about their precious wives and spawn… his brother-in-law being one of them.

He growled at himself and stalked forward, ears pinned against his mane. He wouldn’t be catching anything here which meant another night without dinner. It wasn’t that he was unused to it. He had gone without eating for the first week of his transformation, but that didn’t mean he had to like it!

So deep was he in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice the approaching hoof beats approaching him. His ears perked up as he snapped to attention. The wind brought to him several scents. The first was horse. Sweaty horse to be precise which meant that whoever rode them was either on patrol or in a caravan. He focused his ears in the direction of the noise, and didn’t catch the sounds wheels rotating on shoddily built axles. Then it hit him, and he didn’t stop the growl that rumbled deep in his chest. Man, whom he had expected, did not smack him in the face. No, it was by far something much, much worse.

**_Elves._ **

His claws dug into the soil as he hunkered down. Tail lashing with irritation he drew back his lips and bared his teeth, snarling as he narrowed his eyes into a glare. Horse was similar to deer in texture. He licked his lips, digging his toes into the dirt as he prepared for the onslaught to come when he snapped out of it. His pupils reverted from their feral state while he shook his head rapidly. _What in Mahal am I thinking? They may be elves, but by the Valar!_ He was visibly shaken, horrified at how quickly his instincts had overwhelmed him. _I’m not a beast! I’ll never be that!_ Thorin snarled at himself.

The war horses neighed shrilly, and he could faintly hear orders being uttered in their foppish tongue. Knowing the nauseating fairies they were going to investigate what spooked their mounts.

 _What is it, mighty steed? There’s a boy stuck in a well? Lead on then, fantastic creature! Afterwards we shall have tea and honey cakes, and talk about embroidery!_ He thought sarcastically, grinning crookedly as he chuckled. Then he heard the horses turn and head in his direction. Well, he was definitely in trouble now. Scowling he turned his head, and spotted a cluster of boulders large enough to hide his hulking frame. He lumbered over to them and crouched behind them, listening and planning a course of action.

 _I might be as big as them and fast, but these are elf horses. No doubt they feed them some sort of magic herb that makes them as fast as Gundabad wargs, so I need to duck and weave. Duck and weave and they’ll never cleave. Thank you, Dwalin._ He thought earnestly as he peered over the brim of the rock.

A horn trumpeted in the dark, and he could faintly see them. They were running in a straight line.

_By Mahal I hope this stupid body can do what my old one used to._

Another trumpet blared in the dark.

He braced himself for the inevitable fight, briefly wondering what god was pissed off enough to send every battle his way. Imagine his surprise when they not only ran _around_ his hiding place, but _kept on going_. His ears lifted as he watched them in shock, unconsciously relaxing from his tensed position. His eyes followed their line of attack and he took a quick breath of air in surprise. An orc pack was meeting them head on, their wargs baying for blood as the horses whickered. Was this a regular occurrence?

Thorin lifted himself to his feet as he watched the two forces collide. A stream of arrows fell upon some of the orcs, and swords clanged against one another as they passed by. Like falcons the elves dove between the ranks of their enemies, slashing at weak spots on the orcs, and the occasional javelin piercing a warg’s side. The wargs were swift in retribution as they dragged the horses to the ground, breaking their riders’ legs beneath the force of the crash. Both yelled in agony before their cries were silenced by crunching jaws.

He knew he should take advantage of the situation and run, but he was tired of turning away. With an unrestrained snarl he bolted from his temporary sanctuary. His legs ate up the distance as he unleashed a thundering roar. The startled look on the orcs and wargs faces was probably the most satisfying thing he had seen in a long time, and it felt even better when he looked at the aggrieved elves. He grabbed a warg’s scruff, dug his feet in, and bodily threw it away like the trash it was.

Back on all fours he stalked forward and stepped over one of the fallen elves. The ends of his mane brushed against the brunette’s scalp as Thorin towered over the wounded soldier. He lowered his head, and gave a low growl.

_Besides… what kind of dwarf would I be if I let the elves get all the action?_

He charged and met head to head with one of the braver wargs, crushing its skull with the force of his blow due to his horns. He felt the impact and watched as the red-yellow eyes popped out of their sockets, swaying in the momentum by the optic nerves; the upper jaw crack and bend in an acute angle. Teeth flew by him in slow motion, and then the world sped up as the dead body flew away with a streak of red dragging behind. The orcs reacted by sinking their blades into his shoulders, and unlike an animal’s bite they made it through the fur. He howled with pain, and saw no more as the beast took control.

He lost all restraint, and took to the battle with a butcher’s glee. It didn’t matter if orc arrows pierced his haunches or their daggers cut at his chest. The only thing he wanted was to taste their black ichor, and feel their life flee from their bodies. His claws shredded them like paper, and the wargs stood little chance against him in his rage. A single orc remained with its whimpering mount, and they were backing away. There would be no escape. Ebony and crimson blood dripped from his glistening incisors, and he put them down like the worthless scum they were. Before the orc died it managed to slash his face, which brought him back from the darkness of his mind.

 

He quelled the monster and buried it in the depths of his subconscious as he looked over what it had done. He wanted to retch, but managed to keep his stomach under control. Thorin panted heavily, struggling to keep himself from shaking, when he heard a slight rustle behind him. He whipped around, looking at the elf he had previously loomed over. It was saying something to him in that damned flowery language and he growled at it in aggravation. It flinched, and then he succumbed to the black dots that had been creeping in the corners of his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The elf staggered to his feet, and almost fell down again were it not for one of his lesser wounded compatriots catching him by the arm. They looked at each other, and then back to the beast that lay bleeding among their enemies. His fellow, a fair blonde haired creature, looked at him with wide eyes.

“What should we do with it?”

“I don’t know…” The chestnut replied, voice wavering slightly, “It doesn’t appear to be evil considering it just saved us.”

“I say let’s kill it! Better safe than sorry,” Another called, drawing both of their attentions, as he limped toward the duo.

“Would you want someone to do that to you just because they didn’t know what you were?” The fairer soldier bit out.

“Well I’d certainly understand why they did it at least,” The gimpy elf mumbled before he decided to make himself useful by checking on one of their fallen.

“Wait a moment,” The brunette said as he raised a hand. He knelt beside the large creature, and lifted a braid into his hand. He brushed his thumb over the clasp that kept it from fraying. “Is this… a _dwarven_ braid?” He asked in astonishment as he looked back to the blonde.

The blonde blinked and crouched down beside him. His eyes widened in surprise as he slowly nodded his head. “…Yes, but why would a monster be wearing one? Is it some sort of pet?”

“I’m not sure,” The first replied softly. “Go and gather the wounded and the horses that are left. Take them back, and then bring more horses back here. I’m sure Lord Elrond is going to want to see this.”

“Right away, sire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay let me clear some things up as it has come to my attention that I am confusing my readers. @_@
> 
> When I wrote the prompt I was giddy of being tired and just in one of those "omygoshIDEA" moods. I'm using it as more of a guideline than anything else by this point, so lemme lay some things down for you guys:
> 
> -Thorin and his siblings are older in this fanfic, but Thorin is still young enough to be not his brooding self everybody loves in movie!The Hobbit.  
> -Fili is a toddler, in my fanfic, when Smaug "attacks" Erebor.  
> -I won't be following the prompt ideas completely because I have thought them out more, and they have been fleshed out.  
> -I'm sorry if this is going too fast paced for some people, but I really want to get Thorin to the Shire.  
> -Fell Winter WILL be taking place in this fic and it probably won't go canon at all, so be forewarned about this!  
> -The Hobbit won't be canon at all, really, so don't be surprised when things go down.  
> ALSO: Warnings will be forever posted up top, and fun stuff will always be at the bottom. :3

**Author's Note:**

> Yes... I used Smaug's famous lines in this. How could I not?


End file.
